Lady In Waiting (42 page)

Penny's.

Epilogue

Scientific Diary of Lady Argyll

20
December,
1818

I have made an important scientific discover
y
—
o
ne that, as a mother, will change my life and those of mothers everywher
e
—
f
orever.

By crossing two particularly soothing varieties o
f c
o
m
frey and goldenseal, then blending them with the oils of sweet almond and Norwegian cod liver, I have produced a cream for babies' bottoms of unmatched effectiveness for curing rashes. However, the healing strength of the cream allows it to be applied to any sort of chafing, kitchen and sun scorches, as well as small cuts. No doubt this cream will rival the popularity of the tingle cream, but purely for its healing powers of course.

Thus far, there have been no ill side effects during my careful tests on our own wee James's bottom, and scrapes and burns of the house staff here at Laura Place. Therefore I shall commence blending a dozen

328

gallipots of the bottom cream and begin selling it in my shop immediately.

I am very optimistic about the future of this cream and to prepare, have decided to order one hundred new gallipots from the dispensing apothecary. I shall place my order at once, for as I have learned through experience, if you need something, do not tarry, but rather buy the item immediately before it's no longer to be had.

And so I shall be off directly, for not two shops down from the apothecary, I glimpsed the most exquisite sterling baby rattle with a gleaming ivory handle, a trio of tinkling bells, and an attached whistle. Wee James truly needs it and what sort of mother would I be to deny him such a basic necessity of life?

About
 
the Author

K
athry
n
Caskie has
l
ong been a devotee of history and things of old. So it came as no surprise to her family when she took a career detour off the online superhighway and began writing historical romances full-time.

With a degree in Communications and a background in marketing, advertising, and journalism, she has written professionally for television, radio, magazines, and newspapers in and around the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area.

She lives in Virginia in a two-hundred-year-old Quaker home nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains with her greatest source of inspiration, her husband and two young daughters.

Kathryn is also the author of
Rules of Engagement,
winner of the Romance Writers of America's prestigious Golden Heart award for Best Long Historical Romanc
e

Readers may contact Kathryn at her Web site
www.kathryncaskie.com
.

Author's
Not
e

The Featherton sisters
'
Bath home, Number One Royal Crescent, actually exists to this very day and several of its rooms are open to the public through the generosity of the Bath Preservation Trust.

The house itself is actually quite famous, and
The Bath Chronicle
records on September 27, 1787, that Princess de Lambel
l
e,
Lady in Waiting
to Queen Marie-
A
ntoinette of France, stayed at Number One Royal Crescent

Between the years
181
4 and
18
23, there are no records of who actually occupied the house, so of course I immediately moved the Featherton sisters, their niece Meredith, and their staff into Number One.

For purposes of this story, I took some liberties with room layout, placing the dining room next to the study. In actuality, a wide entrance hall divides the two rooms. I also placed the drawing room on the ground floor, when it exists on the next level.

More Kathr
y
n Caskie!

Please turn this page for a preview of

A Lady's Guide to Rakes

available in mass market September 2005.

I
mperative One

I
t is inadvisable to approach a possib
l
e rake,

without first observing him
from a distance,

where his seductive charms cannot overwhelm

a lady's gentle sensibilities.

The maddening heat from the aged balloon's fire sent sweat trickling beneath Meredith Merriweather's corset, making her flinch. Still, she held the lens of the spyglass ever firm, focusing squarely on the impeccably dressed gentleman who strolled along the bank of the rippling Serpentine, some forty feet below.

"Oh dash it all, can't you bring the basket any lower?" she shouted to her pilot. "Look there, he's getting away!"

"I'll be seein' what I can do, Miss Merriweather, but I'll not be promisin' a thing," the Irishman droned.

Meredith wasn't at all convinced, but movement caught her notice then. Abruptly, she shifted the glass to a sable-haired woman who approached from the north, swinging her hips seductively as she walked. "Go to it, Giselle," Meredith urged quietly. "Work your charms."

334
     
an excer
p
t FROM A LADY'S GUIDE TO RAKES

Meredith held her breath and waited. Surely he could not resist the French courtesan's dark beauty. No man could. Her allure was studied. Perfect.

A huge onion-shaped shadow fell over the gentleman as the balloon passed between him and the sun. He turned, and cupping the edge of his hand to his brow, peered upward, squinting at the balloon's massive silhouette.

Meredith's muscles tensed briefly, but then relaxed. Even if he saw her, she had nothing to fear. Balloon ascensions in Hyde Park were commonplace these days and seeing a great floating orb, while extraordinary, was nothing to warrant suspicion.

She turned the glass on Giselle once more. "Oh,
no."
Why was she beckoning him into the trees? That wasn't the plan. Meredith whipped the spyglass from her eye, quite unable to believe what she was seeing.

Hadn't she bade Giselle to keep to the footpat
h
—
i
n plain view?

Meredith jerked her head around to be sure the balloon's pilot understood the urgency of the situation. "We're going to lose sight of them! Bring us lower,
please."

The leather-faced pilot stared back at her with his queer, unblinking insect-like eyes.

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss." He shot a nervous glance over the edge of the basket's frayed woven lip. "But another few feet and we'll be sittin' in the oak top
s
—
o
r worse. How badly do you need to spy on that bloke? Is it worth crashin' through the bloomin' branches?"

Meredith gasped at his effrontery. "How dare you accuse me or spyin
g!
 
I am conducting a scientific e
xperimen
t
—
o
ne which you, sirrah, are about to ruin."

an excerpt from A LADY'S GUIDE TO RAKES
     
335

Tipping her gaze over the edge of the basket, she peered down at the jutting branches, then turned and looked hard at the impertinent pilot. "We have at least six feet to spare. Drop her three,
please
."

With a resigned shake of his capped head, the pilot waved to his tether handler below and raised three stubby fingers.

The basket jerked and Meredith's hip struck the wall hard. "Thank you," she growled, leveling a narrowed eye at the pilot, who was working quite diligently to conceal the amused grin on his lips.

Spreading her feet wider for balance, Meredith rested her throbbing hip against the foremost corner of the basket and raised the glass to her eye once more.

This was the closest she'd ever been to London's most notorious rake, and even floating above the tree-tops was too close for her comfort.

Having had her own heart and reputation shattered by one of his ilk just two years past, Meredith knew what sort of damage Alexander La
m
ont and his kind were capable of wreaking.

She rested her elbows on the lip of the basket rail and trailed her gaze down the gentleman's well-shaped form.

Good heavens, even from this height, the rake's appeal was plain. His jaw was firm, angular, and lightly gilded from the sun. He was taller than most men, certainly. His muscular shoulders were broad, his waist trim an
d
—
oh, dear.
Swallowing hard, Meredith hurried the spyglass downward, not stopping until only his thighs, his delightfully sculpted thighs, were safely in her sight.
 
Well......she had to admit, without question he was the perfect physical specimen of the human male.

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Still, if tearoom chatter was to be believe
d
—and when was it not?—
h
e was also the perfect example of a rogue . . . and the absolute worst sort at that.

Not for a moment did Meredith believe, as others seemed to, that Alexander La
m
ont had given up his rakish ways and truly reformed.

It wasn't possible. And she would prove it.

That is, if the stubborn pilot would move the great monstrosity of a balloon closer. She had to observe Giselle's progress in bringing out the rake's
true
nature.

Lud, now she was leading him to a bench beneath a massive oak!

"Please,
just a little lower," Meredith implored the pilot.

He shook his head solemnly. "Not wise."

A growl pressed through Meredith's lips as she crouched down to the flooring and removed three gold coins from her reticule. It was all she had left, damn hi
m
—
s
he had already paid him four times the normal fare. Rising, she pressed back her shoulders and made her final plea. "Another guinea per foot you manage to lower this contraption."

The pilot hesitated for nearly a full minute, but it was clear by the tattered condition of the basket and the way he kept licking his withered lips, that he could already taste the money.

With her thumb, Meredith moved the coins around in her palm, making them clink together irresistibly.

"Oh, very well. Three feet," the pilot called out to the man below. "Not a finger more."

As if hearing the pilot's reply, Alexander Lamont looked up at the great red balloon, which now hovered a mere thirty feet above.

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337

Meredith hid her spyglass low inside the basket, and had just gazed out over the Serpentine, as if studying the waterbirds on its glistening surface, when she felt a horrifying scraping sensation beneath her feet.

The basket began to descend into the treetops. Her gaze shot upward in time to see a limb gouge the red bulb of fabric above, tearing savagely into it. There was a deafening, flatulent outpouring of air and the basket lurched and fell. Sharp protruding branches shot up around her.

With a frightened squeal, Meredith dropped low and cowered down deep inside the basket, protecting her face with her hands.

"The skin's been punctured. She's co
m
in' down." The pilot's voice was thin with fear, heightening her own terror. "Hang on!"

"Hang on?" Meredith whipped her hands from her eyes and frantically searched the innards of the basket. There was nothing to grip. 'To what, sir?"

"The rail, you fool. The rail!"

Crawling on her knees toward the pilot, Meredith slid her hands up the rough hewn wicker wall, scrabbled for the rail's lip and clung to it.

But the shift in weight was too abrupt. The basket, already deep inside the tree canopy, tipped to the side, pouring her out of its pot like the last drop of tea.

Her back struck a thick limb and pain sucked the breath from her lungs. She gasped for air as she slipped from the branch and plummeted downward at a horrific speed. Branches tore at her gown and scraped her tender skin as she shot through the tree toward the ground.

Below she registered the wide-eyed shock in Alexan-

338
     
an excerpt
F
ROM A LADY'S GUIDE TO RAKES